For the Invisible and Insecure
by Kaede-tama
Summary: Insecure teenager Matthew Williams seriously doubts that anyone will ever like him. Cue Arthur Kirkland appearing in his bedroom in the middle of the night to prove it otherwise...and he's bringing several friends. AU, multiplexCanada
1. Prologue

**For the Invisible and Insecure**

Matthew Williams is not your typical socialite teenage boy. For starters, he has the tendency to fade from visibility - something that his fellow classmates (the few who bother to remember him) have dubbed as the Matthew Williams Phenomenon. Secondly, he comes from Quebec, Canada, which means that he's part French, which means that his parents are rather prideful of their hair, which means he seldom gets to cut it, which means he kind of looks like a girl. Thirdly, his eyes are an unnatural shade of indigo, which leads even more people into thinking that he's a female.

(Three-and-a-half: His eyelashes are also rather long...)

One of the most normal things about him is his insecurity; every teenager goes through that phase at one point in their lives. However, Matthew entered that phase when he was twelve and is still not quite through it yet at the current age of seventeen.

He's pretty sure that that's too long of a time to be normal.

Girls only give him the time of day when they're asking for answers to the homework or scowling jealously at his hair.

Boys mistake him for a girl, flirt with him, then go bug-eyed when he softly explains, "I'm a guy."

His parents don't really pay much attention to their only child and spend their leisure time on various cruises.

So Matthew grew up with some rather nasty insecurities gnawing at his mind. "Why am I never good enough, Kuma?" he would ask his closest friend, and then lament some more when he realizes that his closest friend is a stuffed polar bear.

And despite that, he finds himself talking to the toy anyway.

Friday night finds the young Canadian entering his bedroom, just about to go to sleep. Under his arm, he carries Kuma-what's-his-name, and once he's settled into the warm sheets, he asks it, "Why doesn't anyone like me, Kuma?"

The stuffed animal stares back with its beady little eyes.

Matthew sighs and snuggles further underneath the comforter, reaching over to turn off the lamp. "Good night," he mumbles, and tugs on the string.

He's just starting to doze off when he feels an arm slowly creep around his waist.

Quickly, his eyes snap back open. He smacks the unseen entity beside him, all the while fumbling for the lamp. He hears a "Bloody hell!" before his fingers finally land on the string. He pulls it and light floods the room.

"Wh-Who are you!" he cries out, still batting away the stranger.

"Belt up, you arse. I'm trying to help you, and you're thanking me by hitting me in the face?" It's a man with short, spiky blond hair, emerald eyes, and rather prominent eyebrows. His voice has a strong English accent. "How rude."

"Y-You're in my room!" Matthew almost shrieks. _Mama, Papa, why do you have to be out on a cruise on this night? I'm going to get raped! Die! Or both!_ "You're in my _bed_!"

The stranger coughs sheepishly at that, sitting up. The sheets slip down to his waist to reveal that he's wearing a...toga?

Oh, maple.

"Yes," the man says, giving a short nod. "I've been working nonstop for the past few days. The bed looked awfully tempting."

Matthew opens his mouth to ask why he couldn't have picked another bed to invade, but he's cut off, "Anyways, onto business, lad." The man slips out of bed, landing on the carpet with apparently bare feet. It confirms that he is indeed wearing a toga. And he's holding a wand. And...are those wings? "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"What are you?" Matthew gawks.

The question goes ignored. "So I understand that you've been feeling rather insecure lately?" Arthur asks, cocking his head in slight impatience.

"I g-guess you can say that," Matthew replies hesitantly. He wonders how long it would take for him to jump up, high-tail out of the room, grab the phone, then lock himself in the bathroom.

"And what makes you think that?" Arthur queries.

"W-Well, everyone just ignores me most of the time. I'm always the last one to be picked when we have to get partners, and sometimes I have to work by myself. I've liked several people, but none have liked me back. I either look too girly to be in a relationship with a girl, or I'm too much of a "wimp" to be with a guy." All the while, Matthew inches towards the door.

A notebook appears out of thin air and floats down to Arthur's waiting hands. He waves his wand, appearing to be writing something on the pages. "Bisexual, I see?" he murmurs. He sounds vaguely...pleased?

Matthew doesn't want to stick around to find out why. He reaches out for the doorknob-

"All right, Matthew Williams." Arthur snaps his fingers, and Matthew is whirled around abruptly to face the him. "You'll be visited by seven other..._visitors_ tonight," he says casually.

Matthew chokes on his own spit. "Wh-Why?" he splutters brilliantly.

"Because your self esteem is so low, I could cry," Arthur replies blandly. Then he seems to soften a bit, the hints of a blush garnering around his cheeks. "And...you need to realize that you're not as unwanted as you think you are. I'm not sure what's wrong with your peers, but you'd be able to tame even the wildest of sins."

Matthew's eyes go wide. He gapes, trying to figure out how to respond to a threat(?) like that. Finally, he opens his mouth to utter, "Are they going to be wearing togas like you?"

Arthur's eye twitches. "What did you say, you wanker?" he snaps.

"N-Nothing," Matthew says hastily. "Now, I'm just...gonna go..." He really didn't want to meet this man's seven other friends. God knows what sick perverts they might be.

And so Matthew turns the knob and yanks the door open. He flees down the hall, almost tripping on his silk pajamas, heading straight for the telephone in the kitchen.

Halfway there, he bumps into his first visitor, Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Another plot bunny, yay.

Can anyone guess what the seven visitors are? Arthur makes a reference to it, hinthint. :D

This silly little fic will be around seven more chapters. And this won't be the last you'll see of Arthur. ;3


	2. Part I: Gluttony

**For the Invisible and Insecure**

Part I: Gluttony

There are several factors contributing to the reason why Matthew's arse is sore, the main one being he didn't expect to run into another intruder. Oh, and that intruder is also ridiculously solid_._ Matthew thinks that he might have felt some fat, but he doesn't say that out loud, of course. He just curses severely in French under his breath as he picks himself off the floor.

The man could probably get mistaken for his brother, but their hair is shorter and straighter. They both have glasses, but Matthew's are a little more rounded than the other's. Matthew's eyes are indigo, whereas the man's eyes are a bright baby blue. He's sporting a loose white t-shirt with an American flag printed on the front, covered partly by a worn out bomber jacket, and then jeans that Matthew is surprised fits him.

"Who are you!" the indignant Canadian shrills, more of a demand than a question. He jabs his pointer finger into the taller blond's chest.

The man is either ignoring him or doesn't feel the hit. "I'm Alfred," he chirps brightly, taking a humongous bite out of a cheeseburger that Matthew didn't see before. Then his baby blue eyes go wide, as if he's just witnessed some kind of... "Whoa! You really do look like a girl!" ...miracle.

Matthew feels himself twitch, but tries not to show his irritability. Despite the fact that he may or may not be robbed by this lunatic and this lunatic's toga-wearing friend.

"I'm not sure why p-people have suddenly began to take an interest in invading my home, but I can call the police on you!" He pokes the other in the chest again for effect, only to reel back in shock when he realizes that his finger has gone _straight through_.

_Great, now he's a ghost, too?_

Alfred cocks his head to the side, again probably not feeling it. "Police?" he echoes in a questioning tone. "Like...those guys with the weird looking hats who ride horses?"

"The guys with the..." Matthew trails off, unsure of how to respond to a stranger insulting his country's police. "N-Never mind that! I w-want you out of my h-house!"

You know that stutter that he has? Yeah, he hates it.

"But...I just got here!" Alfred protests with a pout. "And, and, I was going to make cookies for you and everything!" Cue another bite out of that cheeseburger. The thing looked like something out of an American's dream and a physician's nightmare.

"I never invited you in the first place!" Matthew retorts. "Now," he adds in a nagging tone, "_please_, leave."

Alfred chuckles, finishing the last bite of his burger and dusting his fingers off on his bomber jacket. "What'd you say, Matt?"

_How do you know my name?_ "I said, leave," Matthew repeats through gritted teeth. Gesturing towards the front door, he makes what he hopes to be a mean expression.

"No," Alfred says, amused. "Before that."

Matthew takes a few moments to think. "Please?" he repeats, wondering what that possibly could have to do with anything.

The other blond's lips stretch into a mischievous smile. "You know," he begins silkily, "I can think of another situation where I'd _love_ to hear you say that."

"Another situation?" Matthew pauses to think for a few seconds, until it _finally_ dawns on his mind. His face turns absolutely red and he has to fight the urge to flee. (Because it's still his house, damn it.) "Y-You...!"

Alfred bursts out into laughter. They're loud guffaws that make Matthew feel torn at whether to laugh along or start crying. The other blond finally sets a casual hand on his shoulder and bites out, "Ha! Gotcha!"

Lips tight, eyes steely, fists clenched, body just tensed up in general - Matthew is sure that he resembles a landmine about to explode. He opens his mouth and says as calmly as he can, "Get out."

The laughing stops almost as quickly as it began. Alfred's hand slip from his shoulder (to Matthew's...disappointment?), and the taller male looks troubled. "This isn't working out," he says semi-seriously.

Matthew wants to smack him. "Which part of it?" he drawls snidely.

"The whole thing." Alfred taps his chin, thoughtful. "Iggy said that I should come here and try to help you out with your...um...self-esteem, I think it was."

"I d-do not need help with my self-esteem!"

"But he said that you've cut before," Alfred counters. He tilts his head to the side, looking actually worried. "And as a hero, I told him that I'd go first. Because I was sure that after you'd met me, you'll be happier than you've ever been in your life." His emotions seem to take another swing and he smiles brightly.

"That was one time," Matthew corrects. However, he lowers his eyes to stare sulkily at the floor. "I was cooking and I accidentally cut myself. I might have let it bleed out for a little too long, but that was it."

Half of his mind is screaming, _Why are you still talking to this weirdo?_ and the other half is sighing in relief that he's finally told someone.

Even if that someone could potentially be a ghost.

Alfred's smile falters slightly, but Matthew figures he must be a trained professional or something; the boisterous American recovers fast. The next thing he says is completely unrelated to the topic: "Can I have some pancakes?"

Blinking, Matthew stares at him in bewilderment. "Eh?"

Alfred doesn't reply. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, leaving Matthew wondering exactly who the heck this guy is and how he knows where the kitchen is at.

**. . .**

_I must be out of my mind,_ Matthew thinks mournfully; on the other side of the table, Alfred is chewing happily on his third pancake. Matthew's shirt has several stains from the batter and so does his cheek, but he pays no mind to that. Instead, he gapes at the stranger that he has just given dinner (breakfast?) to.

"So," he begins awkwardly. Okay, it's time for a few confessions: One, he doesn't really have the heart to kick Alfred out any more. He doesn't _look_ dangerous and seems too silly(or stupid) to pull anything clever.

Two: He's kind of a pushover, so he doubts that he'll be able to kick him out anyway.

And confession number three: Alfred's starting to look kind of attractive for a ghost.

"Something on my face?" Alfred says through a mouthful of pancakes and maple. (What's that about him starting look attractive, again?) He sets his utensils down with a loud clang.

Matthew tries his best not to start berating. "Why are you in my house?" he asks pointedly. No use trying to beat around the bush, eh?

"I already told you!" Alfred grins, reaching over to poke his nose in a rather affectionate gesture. Matthew shivers slightly at the contact. "I'm here to pull you out of your depressing fit and try to make you happier."

Matthew wants to ask, "So you _are _a rapist?" but refrains. "What does that have to do with my finger going right through you?" he says accusingly instead.

It takes a few seconds until Alfred realizes what he's referring to. The blue-eyed blond laughs jovially. "Oh, you mean this!" And he reaches over the pancakes to literally stick his hand in Matthew's chest.

The Canadian, in turn, shrieks in fright at the grotesque display, nearly flipping the table over as he hastily gets up. That only serves to make things worse, though; now, Alfred's hand is...in his crotch.

("Lovely," Arthur would scoff.)

Matthew jerks backwards, stumbles over the chair, and consequently falls on the floor for the second time that night. His cheeks are stained red both in anger and embarrassment. "Get out!"

"What do you mean?"

"Get out of _my house!_"

"W-Wait!" Alfred's eyes go wide in panic. He lets go of the fork and runs through (yes, _through_) the table to kneel down next to the other boy. "Don't freak out! I have a totally reasonable explanation!"

He reaches out to touch Matthew's shoulder, but the Canadian shrills, "Don't touch me!"

"That kind of thing is normal for me!" Alfred rushes to explain. "I'm not exactly human- Well, I am, but not exactly. I'm a Sin!"

"Well, what you did wouldn't exactly make you a Virtue!" Matthew retorts sarcastically. _So he's an attractive ghost that is also delusional. Maple, I'm either drunk or dreaming._

Alfred makes a face at the remark. "No way, man," he says, sounding serious. "Being a Virtue's no fun. They wear togas and stuff! Sure, they have cool wings, but they're all sissies. They're into chastity and kindness and stuff." He pounds his chest proudly. "Being a Sin is so much more fun. I think we should get a better group name, but-"

"Are you serious?" Matthew interrupts the rant, incredulous.

"Of course!" Alfred grins a stupid grin. "I'm the Sin of Gluttony!"

Matthew wonders why he sounds so optimistic about that.

As if reading his thoughts, Alfred adds, "But not just with food." He laughs awkwardly. "I went through a little phase, got depressed for a while... Anyways! Long story short, I'm also gluttonous for other things besides food..."

Matthew doesn't know if he wants to hear the rest; his curiosity gets the best of him. "And what?"

"You." Alfred gives a little waggle of his eyebrows.

(Cue the really awkward silence.)

"Right." Matthew shifts uneasily. "Um, if you don't mind, would you leave now? It's past my bed time." He's saying the first random things that pop into mind - he can't really think properly after that cheesy pick-up line.

"No, I'm serious!" Alfred persists. "I don't get why more people don't notice you. Seriously! You're adorable, Mattie!"

Matthew is aware of the obvious fact that he's never told the other his name; so how did he know? Despite the general shudder that accompanies the strange proclamation, he also feels flattered. And giddy. Over a man whose last name he doesn't even know.

"You're nice and a great cook." Alfred smirks. "Y'know, you could make a pretty good wife!"

Matthew blushes. He's surprised that Alfred isn't the Sin of Lust instead...

He mentally backtracks at that thought; since when did he actually believe Alfred's silly little story...? "When are you leaving?" he asks, sounding weary now more than anything else. It's half-hearted, because as strange as the situation is, he actually kind of enjoys the company. And the things that Alfred are starting to sound amusing and make him want to smile.

But he's still a stranger.

Alfred smiles softly. "Just want you to know that you're appreciated around here, Mattie." He leans in and, to Matthew's embarrassment and secret pleasure, presses a chaste little kiss to his cheek. "See you later, okay?"

_Later?_ Matthew thinks, mind still hazy from the show of affection. He reaches up to touch his face lightly, but when he blinks, Alfred is suddenly gone.

"A-Alfred?" he calls, fully aware of the fact that he's alone on the floor now. He's answered by silence.

"Guess it was a hallucination after all," the blond mumbles to himself, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Disappointment is just starting to settle on his heart when he grabs the chair to pull himself up.

Once he's back on his feet, the Canadian finds himself standing face-to-face with the Sin of Lust.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I UPDATED ON TIME! I've had that image of Alfred just randomly putting a hand on Matthew's crotch, and I'm glad I was able to write that part in here. xD  
>Good job to those who guessed that they'd be embodiments of the seven deadly sins! A lot more people picked up on Arthur's hint than I thought.~<p>

Oh, lust is next. This'll be fun to write. :3  
>(But this won't be the last you'll see of Alfred, either!)<p>

See you next update!


	3. Part II: Lust

**For the Invisible and Insecure**

Part II: Lust

Bright blue eyes stare back at him. They look much like the blue that Alfred's eyes were, except they twinkle with...mischief? It's a man - Matthew thought he was a girl until he caught a glimpse of the stubble. His hair is blond and wavy, stopping several centimeters below his chin. Oh, hey - this guy can pass for a blood relative!

"_Bonjour, Matthieu_," the man speaks. Matthew realizes that he's practically laying over the table, narrowly missing the plate of pancakes.

Alfred...

"_Je m'appelle Francis,_" the blond stranger continues.

(So he's French too? As Arthur would say sarcastically, "Bloody brilliant.")

"Oh..." Matthew rubs his arm awkwardly. "Hi. Um, I'm Matthew. What'd you just say?" That's a lie, of course. French is his second language and he understood every single word of what this "Francis" said.

The Frenchman(?) tilts his head to the side. "Ah, really now?" he says, switching languages smoothly. "Arthur informed us that you speak English as well as French and German, but perhaps he was wrong..." He pauses thoughtfully.

"Th-That's unfortunate." Wait, they're stalking him, too? How did they know what languages he spoke? _Merde. _

"Indeed," Francis murmurs, gaze traveling down his body - almost _lustfully._

Why did Matthew feel like he was slowly being mentally undressed...? "I take it you're one of my...visitors?" he asks brightly, attempting to change the mood. He turns around, deciding that he didn't like being stared at by this man.

"That's correct." He hears Francis slide off of the counter. A few seconds later, the taller blond is at his side. "Matthew," he said.

Matthew halts in his tracks when he felt the man's hand on his cheek. "Uh...F-Francis?" he asks, nervous about their close proximity. _(You weren't complaining when Alfred kissed you,_ a voice chimes in his mind, and he thinks, _Shut up.)_

"I don't think I've met anyone," Francis says lowly, "with eyes as beautiful as yours."

Oh. Okay, um, that is unexpected. Matthew finds himself blushing. "Does that usually work on other people?" he stammers, trying to at least regain a bit of his dignity. He looks down at the floor, too embarrassed to make eye contact anymore.

Francis blinks. "This is interesting," he says. He places a finger on his lip thoughtfully. "You don't feel any different?"

"Not really, eh." Matthew glances down at himself wonderingly. "Why? Is something supposed to be happening?"

This time, Francis looks bemuse. "Well, you see, _mon chaton,_" he begins, the French endearment slipping out without much thought, "being the Sin of Lust comes with its benefits."

Well, he at least considers them as benefits. Everyone else seems to just resent it, but he likes to think that they're just jealous.

"Benefits?" They reach the living room and Matthew takes a seat; Francis decides to sit next to him. The Canadian regards him warily. "What kind of benefits?" He's thinking, _What can you possibly benefit from being the Sin of Lust?_ Then he remembers that there's a thing called sex with dubious-consent/no consent/rape and thinks, _Oh, right._

"You see," Francis seems to be inching closer, "I can..._persuade_ people into feeling and doing things."

"Oh." Matthew tries not to shudder when he feels Francis place two fingers under his chin, tilting it up. "F-Francis...?"

Instead of a reply, he feels a pair of lips press into his own. For a few seconds, all he can do is sit there dumbly; he can hardly believe that he's now officially been kissed twice. In the same night.

He feels proud and kind of violated.

"_You're beautiful,_" Francis murmurs in between their lips.

Too distracted by the warm sensations running through his body, Matthew doesn't notice that the other has switched to French. "_I'm a boy,_" he mumbles in reply. "_I'm not supposed to be beautiful._"

"Ah," Francis says teasingly, pulling away to smile. "You do speak French."

Matthew tries to ward the haziness off of his thoughts. Had he replied in French? Shit... "Uh, I don't know what you're talking about?" he offers meakly.

Francis chuckles. "It's nothing that you have to lie about, _petit._ It just makes you all the more amazing." He leans in again, presumably for another kiss, but this time Matthew presses a hand against his chest to stop him.

"I'm sorry, Francis," Matthew tries not to stammer, "but... I mean, I really appreciate the things you said to me... I think this is too fast." He continues quickly, "As the Sin of Lust, I understand if you're used to people just showing you to their bedroom on the first meeting, but I'm not like that. I... I'd like a little more, eh?"

Tilting his head to the side, Francis asks, "So you would like me to court you first?"

Matthew blushes. "I was thinking that maybe we could get to know each other more first," he explains. "Although being courted would be...lovely, I don't even know your last name."

That elicits a small laugh from the Frenchman. "Francis Bonnefoy. And now you know," he says, smiling. "As for getting to know-"

Before he can finish, a loud crash resounds from somewhere in the kitchen. Matthew is standing alert on his feet within seconds. "Wh-What was that?" he asks worriedly, trying to peek into the kitchen from his place.

Another crash echoes throughout the house. Matthew panics and grabs the TV remote from the coffee table, heading to the kitchen with the makeshift weapon wielded carefully in his grip. "Francis, can you..." When he turns around, he sees that Francis has disappeared.

(Oh, gee, how nice of the guy.)

"Wh-Who's there?" Matthew demands. He curses himself for not sounding stronger. "I h-have a weapon! Don't even think of trying to attack me!" Untrue. He has a measly TV remote, but whatever is in his kitchen doesn't need to know that.

"Hey!" a loud voice greets, and Matthew yelps, swinging the remote blindly. "Whoa, watch it!" The Canadian stumbles backwards, facing the man apprehensively.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the stranger says. He has hair curiously colored silver, and his eyes are crimson and filled with mirth.

Matthew inhales and tries to calm himself down. "You're another one of my visitors, aren't you?" he asks wearily.

The crimson-eyed man grins and shoots him a thumbs up. "You bet. I would've been here sooner if Arthur hadn't called Franny back," he said, sounding a little too enthusiastic. "I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, and I hope you're ready for an awesome time with me!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** /throws the update at you

...Can anyone guess what Sin Gilbert is? ;D


End file.
